


Wanting to Forget

by Blackthorne (Stellar_Shiva)



Category: Lollipop Chainsaw
Genre: Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Violence, Zombies, dark purveyors, lollipop chainsaw - Freeform, suda51
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellar_Shiva/pseuds/Blackthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis searches through a box of memories only to find one that reminds him he wasn't always top dog...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting to Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayaShea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaShea/gifts).



> Short fic I did for my rp account on Tumblr. May be triggering for some people as there is abuse present in this story! Read with caution!

The dark room echoed with the dull thud of his boots, as a pale finger flipped the light switch. Lewis Legend strode into the illuminated room intently, his mind set. He threw open the door to the storage closet so hard, some crumbling plaster fell in a cloud around his shoulders. He coughed a bit, before irritably swiping the pale dust off. He entered, heading towards the back where a stack of boxes awaited him. He knelt down, digging through the old cardboard until he found a familiar black box that had once contained a pair of boots. The rocker sat it in his lap, a hand resting on the lid.

Lewis’ thoughts made him pause. Did he really want to open this old wound? Was the past really worth revisiting because of some line of idle conversation with Mariska? He began to chew at his lower lip, before dismissing the anxiety and removing the top of the box. He just had to know, to remember one last time. To recall the world he left behind, that like him had died ages ago.

A cloud of dust rose to greet him before settling to reveal the contents. The box was filled with pictures, trinkets and scraps of his past. The photos were fading, some of the trinkets were broken, and yet the memories were coming back. He smiled to himself as his yellow-red eyes registered the faces of his family and friends, frozen in a happier time. They were far and away from the endless screams and eternal decay that made the Rotten World what it was. Lewis shuffled through more photos, taking time to analyze and remember each face, committing them to memory. Then he saw one particular face.

His smile disappeared, and a dull ache began to pull at his heart. Lewis reached in his jacket and produced a cigarette to prop between his lips, while sparking a flame from his lighter. He inhaled deeply, feeling the world begin to slow down. Once the nicotine took effect, he felt more at ease, sighing at the photo. A man who looked similar to himself sat in the picture behind the smoky haze, offering a cold smile to the camera while clad in a blue flannel shirt and jeans. “Roy.” The greaser muttered, as his mind took him back across the reaches of time, to a Sunday in 1944.

Lewis always hated church, so his mother left him at home with his brothers. He had been 6, and he had been playing with his little brother Jerry, while Stevie was upstairs asleep in his crib. Goodnight Irene played lazily through the kitchen door as the sun shone brightly through the windows. Uncle Roy had been sitting on the living room couch reading the newspaper, a can of beer in his hand.

His grip had been tightening on the can, and when Lewis had looked over he knew exactly what that meant. He told Jerry to take their toy trucks to the sun room. Roy had heard what Lewis said, and folded the newspaper, tossing it to the side of the couch. There was a certain way he folded the newspaper that would indicate a dark outcome. Jerry scurried to get everything, but it was too late. Roy had already risen and snatched the 3 yr old up by his overalls, the toy trucks falling from his grip discarded to the floor. Jerry began to wail sharply, tears streaming from his eyes as he begged Roy not to hit him.

The cries got louder as Roy’s meaty fists sank and rose into Jerry’s soft stomach, leaving blue and purple kisses in their wake. He was yelling some nonsense about how he was the man of the house and how Jerry was only allowed to listen to him.

Lewis balled his fists, as fire ran through his veins and built up rage. He finally exploded, and ripped a lamp from the wall socket and clocked Roy in the thigh with it. Lewis’ temper made him raise and lower the tiny lamp over and over with all his 6 yr old strength. The glass broke from contact, and the force was enough to propel the shards through the fabric and into Roy’s skin. His uncle howled in pain, dropping Jerry into a weepy mess on the floor. Roy directed his fury at Lewis by snatching the lamp from his hands and clocking him in the forehead with it. He threw it aside, the poor lamp broken into countless shards beyond repair.

Lewis saw stars before his stomach muscles clenched tightly, taking all wind from his chest as Roy punched him over and over. He wanted to scream, his lungs burning from a lack of air as he feebly tried to get away from his uncle. His resistance began to wane, as the threat of unconsciousness began to make his vision waver. The memory was pretty hazy, but he did distinctly remember the sour smell of beer on Roy’s breath and being dropped to the floor at some point by the couch before blacking out.

When he came to, it was dark and he was lying in bed with an ice pack on his stomach. He could hear his mother arguing with Roy in the other room. It hurt to breathe and to move. Lewis remembered feeling so small and helpless, unable to do anything to defend anyone. He pressed his face quietly into his pillow despite the pain, tears of frustration stinging the bruises on his face as he heard Roy beating his mother.

Lewis’ was sent careening back to reality by the droplets of blood that trickled from his bitten lip onto the exposed portion of his chest. His neglected cigarette had been completely consumed to ash, and he just irritably chucked it out of the closet into the hall. Grabbing the picture of Roy, he closed the box and put it back in its place before strolling out of the closet and back into the room. Lewis knelt down over a discarded ash tray he had found, and placed Roy’s picture on top of it. Smirking, he took his lighter and watched the picture burn, until it too was a memory. “Fuck you.” Lewis said to no one as he wiped his lip and stood up. In time the greaser hoped that he’d forget about Roy, and all that had happened before his dad had come home from the war effort. He strode back over to the doorway, extending a finger to flip the light off. Roy was best left forgotten. Lewis wasn’t a weak little bitch anymore and if he ever saw Roy in the Rotten World…

That was a pleasing thought; it was one worth investigating too. Lewis smirked and flipped the light off, exiting the dark room. The light completely faded as the door closed once more.


End file.
